top of page


by Matt Flores


[After Ángel Lartigue’s Forensic Burial Maps of Cadavers (Studies 1-5)]


yesterday the wrought iron     

            sounded as if a milky texture

were closing

            in on this mess

this hissing border’s

            breadth over reaching

to coagulate history

            widening the way for a past

that’s all of our dead


            in radio noise afterglow

                        the evening static’s

            loose cable wire’s watch

                        over all acreage

            halo to junction of roads

                        beveled stars

            ambient brush


time is the doormat of queerness

            meant to wipe clean

the membrane made

            out of live oak

haunting shapes

            lateness to the vision

field full of occlusive

            first time I saw you   

when we wed

            into this place


            feral in huisache

                        scaffolds reworking

            awnings for waiting

                        skin suture under

            corrugated tin sound

                        raining rarely

            every list made


to archive trans-

            ience at the edges

phosphorescent & orbiting

            around the palm

trees ribbed with song

            their wind play

rippling the rift between

            the passage of bark

through serration


            honey sharp into

                        punctures along skin

            marker for hollowing

                        out the brushpath

            to blue plastic

                        reprieve brief behind

            the three legged dog


meek looking through

            the latent fence sorrow

sounds burrowing down

            cavernous moon mixture

of spider seaming

             barbed wire together

which weaves forgotten

            clothing that’s hush

of the fireplace mantel

bottom of page